Posted on Friday, 29 July 2016

For most Thailand-bound holidaymakers, The Mekong River is far down the list of must-sees. The islands to the south, alongside Bangkok and Chiang Mai, shine much brighter on the tourist radar – not without good reason.

But as I was reminded recently, the mighty Mekong offers a sense of a bygone South East Asia that you can find in few other places. This vast 600m wide river still supports countless fishermen, boat tours and floating restaurants. But it also looks much as it did a hundred, two hundred years ago. From some viewpoints, only a distant electricity pylon astride the hazy jungle tells you it's the 21^st century at all.

As a temporary resident of Nong Khai, it occurred to me that I had been inside the city limits for well over two weeks. It was time to explore. But first I needed a motorbike.

Jimmy's Bar is named after a Scotsman, but his wife, Nang, runs the show. The bar has only been open for a month and she's still full of entrepreneurial enthusiasm. She'll sell you or rent you almost anything. Including her motorbike.

I had to wait while a member of her staff went off to retrieve the all-important helmet. In the meantime, sipping a soda water, I listened to a few yarns from the local expats, already on their first gin and tonics despite not yet having answered the question – where for lunch?

Just as the yarns turned into an argument over the recent Brexit vote, my helmet arrived – complete with a fetching floral design.

I seized my chance to escape. Stepping out into the sunlight, I discovered that Nang's little Honda also sported a charming flowery pattern.

But if a grown man can't drive around Thailand on a flowery motorbike and matching helmet, where can he?

I zipped off.

A little upriver I stopped at Mut Mee Garden Resort.

Mut Mee Garden Resort

Shielded from the hot Esan sun by a lofty canopy, Mut Mee is a tranquil garden oasis designed with Western sensibilities in mind. The focal point is a raised rectangular dining area which affords views across the Mekong and into the endless jungles of Laos. On a day like today, primary blues and greens overwhelm the retinas. One cannot help but be in a good mood.

Here I had lunch and spoke with the affable owner, Julian. This well-spoken Englishman discovered Nong Khai in the 70s and steadily transformed Mut Mee from a few huts into the success it now was. Room types cater to a broad range of budgets, from 200 baht fan-only singles (not for the feint hearted this time of year), to air-conditioned family rooms surpassing the 1000 baht mark.

Julian has an encyclopedic knowledge of many things, not least the people and places in and around Nong Khai. He suggested to me a number of possible destinations, from obscure old temples to the Phu Phra Bat Historical Park, where strange rock formations sheer up into the sky, dwarfing visitors. He also suggested visiting a glass skywalk overlooking the Mekong.

On a map Julian marked out the various places of interest. Of all the options, I chose to visit another resort further along the river. This one was named after the Naga, a three-headed serpent that – allegedly – occupies the depths of the Mekong.

Naga Resort

I recalled visiting Naga Resort two years earlier. It stuck in the mind because it was very remote, positioned well away from any other settlement. It also, I remembered, had a delightful restaurant area from which you could peer across the river and into the verdant jungle of Laos.

And two years previously I had met the owner, an elderly Kiwi. Would he still be here?

After a half-an-hour ride from Nong Khai, I parked up. A Thai groundsman in blue coveralls looked at me with a perplexed smile. Recalling the route to the restaurant area, I skipped down a series of steps towards the Mekong. To my surprise the previously well-run dining zone was abandoned and in disarray: empty fridges, overturned chairs, encroaching weeds. There were also a series of large gaps in the palm-frond roof.

Returning to the groundsman I said: “Beer?”

He motioned to a large fridge, plentifully stocked with the desired beverage. Instead of giving me a drink, however, the man disappeared. He came back with a white-haired man, tall and large-framed. I recognised him immediately as the Kiwi of two years before.

He was called George and he furnished me with a cold beer. We moved into another part of the resort to a small swimming pool. A group of young Thais sat around it. They were the only guests, George explained.

“My wife booked them in, but she's not here to look after them,” he said, “We're meant to be closed.”

Occupying two plastic chairs by the pool we began talking with gusto – in a way two Anglo Saxons are liable to do in a half-abandoned riverside resort on a balmy Sunday afternoon.

While some older expats can bore one to tears with their life stories, George's tale was genuinely interesting.

The sun passed behind the trees and burned over the river before plunging into Laos.

Aged eight, George had been a barrow-boy in Hackney, picking up his passion for business from entrepreneurial Gypsies. Thanks to being a ‘loud mouth' he was hired to sell past-their-best vegetables to ‘old dears' – doing so with some success.

He became a ‘ten pound Pom' in the mid-Fifties and moved to New Zealand with his mother and postman father. After a tough childhood in a country where ‘Poms' were not always welcome, a life-changing incident took place in an Auckland casino. George got into a fight with a man who insulted a Maori girl - and won. This girl, it turned out, was related to a large Maori gang who, as a result of his chivalry, gave George their protection and friendship. They also gave him an ancient necklace made of human bone.

Most of his tales are rather too controversial or ribald to be printed here, but George became a very successful in the panel-beating business. A Don Corlene of automotive body repairs, among other enterprises. His fascinating tales of gangs, corruption and women spanned New Zealand and Thailand. This was a man who had really lived, although not without upsetting the odd Inland Revenue authority. Not bad for an East End barrow-boy.

Now, as we sat on his veranda, the sky aflame over the darkening forests of Laos, I remarked inwardly: It's amazing who you can meet on a Sunday afternoon bike ride in Thailand.

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